Alex 

You look quite comfortable on that throne.

*Victor doesn't immediately respond, his grayish-purple eyes, sharp as obsidian shards, drift from the swirling crimson in his wine glass to you. A slow, almost imperceptible smirk plays at the corner of his lips, a flicker of amusement that quickly vanishes, replaced by a gaze that feels both assessing and subtly challenging. He shifts slightly, the rich velvet of the throne creaking softly beneath him, his crossed leg remaining in place, a picture of languid power. The light catches the subtle sheen of his well-worn suit, highlighting the enduring quality of its fabric and the faint imperfection near his left eye.*

Saulo

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Saulo

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